


bring it back more divine

by directionless



Category: Dreamcatcher (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Thieves, Banter, Clothing, F/F, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 01:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/directionless/pseuds/directionless
Summary: "I'm gonna go ahead and reiterate how terrible this idea is," Handong said, gripping the back of Bora's thigh, "because I don't think it's sinking in."
Relationships: Han Dong | Handong/Kim Bora | SuA
Comments: 14
Kudos: 107





	bring it back more divine

**Author's Note:**

> very fictional and very silly! title from frank sinatra's If I Steal A Kiss. if you like it, or if you don't, drop a line in the comments :) xoxo

1.

"I'm gonna go ahead and reiterate how terrible this idea is," Handong said, gripping the back of Bora's thigh, "because I don't think it's sinking in."

"Jealousy is not cute on you," Bora said.

"I'm not jealous." Handong took two pins from the little box at her feet, pinching up the fabric of the trousers. Bora twisted slightly to get a better view of her ass; Handong's palm slid down her leg a few inches, and she shivered. "I'm concerned. For our safety and wellbeing."

"If you were really concerned for my wellbeing you would stop stabbing me."

"Accident," Handong said, muffled. She had one pin in her mouth, now; her hair was tied back in a loose, practical bun, and she was frowning in concentration. She pinned a fold back and patted Bora's leg in satisfaction, and her brow cleared. She was sexy as hell. Bora sighed a long-suffering sigh.

"Just wondering," Bora said, "have you changed your mind about that whole policy where you don't date people you work with?"

"No." Handong didn't smile, exactly, but when she rolled her measuring tape down Bora's inseam, it felt affectionate. "Okay," said Handong at length, "I think that's good. How do they feel? Too tight?"

"Maybe I like it tight," Bora said.

Handong rolled her eyes. "Walk around, see how they fit, then we'll move onto the dress."

Bora took a few steps across the room, attempted to squat to determine her range of motion, and then walked back. Handong was still sitting on the podium in front of her mirror, taking measurement notes on a little pad. "Aren't you gonna help me out of these clothes?" Bora asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

"I could stab you on purpose," Handong said sweetly, without looking up.

But when Bora stripped, she did help her with the dress, steadying her by the arm while Bora stepped into it. It was beautiful, even without final tailoring; a long gown, finely made, lace décolletage and a plunging back, and when the body was done it would cling to her like a glove—a little loose in the waist and shoulders for now, and too long in the hem, but otherwise, Handong had outdone herself. "Damn," Bora said, while Handong busied herself making adjustments with the pins, "you really have a thing for me in black."

Handong was standing behind her, pulling fabric at the small of Bora's back; she glanced up, and their eyes met in the mirror. The back of her hand brushed Bora's bare skin, softly. "This one used to be mine," she said. "Elie Saab. I like you in it."

Oh yeah, Bora thought, it's on. She turned slightly into Handong's touch, and—

" _Ow,_ " she said, outraged. "Again with the stabbing!"

"Stop moving while I'm putting the pins in, then," said Handong heartlessly.

Resigned, Bora shut her eyes. Moment ruined. She was probably going to get tetanus from those things.

Handong turned out to be right about the job, like she was right about most things. It was a total clusterfuck, and worst of all, Bora completely ruined the Elie Saab running from the Rottweilers when they had to make a break for it.

"You," Handong said, panting as they crouched behind a low outbuilding, waiting for Gahyeon to bring around the van, "are banned from planning jobs. Forever. I mean it."

"Oh, come on," said Bora, and held up the string of diamonds she'd palmed, "give a girl some credit."

Handong stared at her for a long moment, and then Gahyeon arrived; Siyeon opened the wide cab door, and they jumped in. Gahyeon peeled away into the night.

"Holy shit," Siyeon crowed, hitting Bora's shoulder, "you actually got one! You're insane!"

In the dim light of the backseat, Bora could just make out Handong's tiny, exasperated smile. The dress had ripped along Bora's thigh nearly to her hip, and Handong reached over and covered her with one of Siyeon's oversized black hoodies. She pulled carefully at the corners so it went over Bora's legs like a blanket.

"This is completely unfixable, by the way," Handong said lowly, as Siyeon hauled herself back into the front seat. "It's worse than what you did to the Alaïa."

"Someday you're really going to have to let that go."

"We might as well have gotten something off the rack. I don't know why I waste my time tailoring you."

"Oh," Bora said, smiling, "I think you just like feeling me up."

2.

Bora wasn't exactly sure where Handong had learned it all. She knew Handong had grown up fabulously wealthy, and that she'd attended a private ladies' academy in Switzerland before her parents turned her out, but she was pretty sure boarding schools weren't teaching girls how to sew in the twenty-first century. So that wasn't it. Bora had been fitted by professional tailors, and it wasn't that Handong fell short in comparison—quite the opposite, actually—but there was something in her work that suggested she'd taught herself, out of pure love for sartorial craft. Which really made it all so much hotter.

At the moment, Handong was standing a few feet away, appraising her work; frowning, she turned to Gahyeon. "Do you think it's trashy? I want her to look expensive, maybe I went too high on the hem."

"Don't do that thing where you talk about me like I'm not here," Bora said. "I hate that."

They both ignored her. Gahyeon crossed her arms, squinting like a little Handong-in-training, and said traitorously, "Honestly? I think it's not high enough."

The dress was flimsy, a slippery, satiny bodycon in dark red, with spaghetti straps that latticed over themselves in the back. "You're so transparent," Bora said to Handong, "putting me in this the second you're out on the grift. You want me so bad."

"Don't flatter yourself," Handong said coolly. "Last job you were supposed to be a wealthy socialite with conservative parents, now you're supposed to be my trophy girlfriend. It's a different look."

Bora turned and examined herself in the mirror, laughing a little as she did. "What do you call this? Girl who spends all day serving you hors d'oeuvres on a yacht?"

Handong treated her to a slow, slow smirk, enough heat in her gaze that Bora actually got a little warm in the face. "Yeah, hors d'oeuvres," she said, "among other things."

"You guys do know I'm in the room, right?" said Gahyeon. "Sometimes it's hard to tell."

Handong cleared her throat. "Would you mind getting the Miu Miu clutch from my bag?" She pointed towards the bed, where her suitcase was lying open. "And the diamond earrings, the real ones, not the crystals, and—the black coat, I think."

Gahyeon brought them over, and Handong fussed over accessories, exchanging the coat for a Chanel fur, while Bora put on the earrings. Gahyeon suggested they test out the makeup look, and she showed Handong a few pictures on her phone; Handong nodded and retrieved Bora's toiletry bag from the bathroom. She held Bora's chin gently between her thumb and forefinger, and all while she brushed on foundation and applied eyeliner, her touch was soft, reverent, like Bora was as delicate and priceless as a piece of art.

"I can't believe you left it on the boat," Handong said a week later. "At least this one was cheap, but still, I was gonna give it to Gahyeon, it was perfect for her. Do you know how good she looks in a red lip?"

"Excuse you," said Bora sulkily. She blew on the coffee Siyeon had brought her. "I look amazing in a red lip."

Handong gave her an unimpressed sideways glance and continued writing notes on the museum blueprint she'd spread in front of them. Bora tried and failed not to feel slighted. The aching feeling she got around Handong was getting less and less funny all the time; she was starting to really crave it now, the weight of Handong's attention, her light couturier's touch. Damn her and her stupid aversions to mixing work and pleasure. That was exactly what made their job so great.

"What are you trying to say, anyway," Bora said finally, "you're cheating on me? You're sewing other women into form-fitting underwear dresses? I thought we had something special."

"In a way we do," said Handong. "You're definitely the only one who gets off on it."

Bora, busy taking a cautious sip of her coffee, nearly burned off her tongue.

3.

"I mean, you have to admit it's a little hot," Bora blurted out, Handong's fingers brushing over her ankle while she tied the silky white bow on the left Louboutin.

"It's Vegas," Handong said, "what did you expect?"

"Not the weather, genius." Bora gave a little shimmy. "This, the—you putting me in all these clothes."

Handong smiled a very careful smile. "I think people are traditionally more interested in the part where the clothes come off, no?"

"I'm broken," Bora agreed. She felt almost feverish, as Handong slid the other shoe onto her right foot. She was probably sick. She probably had a brain worm that was making her think about Handong feeling her up all the time, hands pressed against her, bunching up fabric, moving up her thighs. "There's something wrong with me."

"Done," Handong said, satisfied, and turned to Bora's reflection. Bora kept her eyes safely above Handong's head and swallowed. Handong just had to stop touching her, it was—she had a way of doing it that was almost chivalrous, courtly and deliberate. Bora was nobody's doll, but she was far too hung up on the way Handong made her feel, like she was special, like she was precious, worth the time and care it took to do things right.

"I'm just saying," she said, "it's sexy. I feel like Cinderella right now."

"That's what does it for you? A fairytale about feet?"

"Oh my God." Bora's face burned, but she couldn't help laughing. "I'm like totally throwing myself at you here, can't you ever just cut me some slack?"

Handong picked up her needle and the bridal veil, and with her free hand she tugged on the fabric of the wedding dress. "I do nothing but," she said, and smiled.

Siyeon and Gahyeon came in just after she finished the veil; Gahyeon cued up the André Rieu, and Siyeon sat on the floor tapping away at her computer, discreetly adjusting the camera angles at the baccarat tables.

Handong had one hand under Bora's shoulder blade; her other hand was laced with Bora's, held aloft.

"This feels unnecessary," Bora said.

Handong didn't smile, but her eyes glinted, sly. "If we're going to pull off a convincing Grace Kelly, you'll have to be a convincing bride. I really can't believe you don't know how to waltz."

"I'm sorry we didn't all get top marks in Ballroom Dancing at the Swiss Academy Of Very Fancy Girls," Bora said. The Rieu played on merrily, and Handong gave her a sweet spin; they were pressed even closer together then, in classic closed position. "Doesn't the guy's hand go to the waist?"

Handong closed her eyes for a brief vexed moment as they evened out. "Would you just shut up and let me lead?"

"I hate it when mom and dad fight," Gahyeon sighed, and Siyeon looked up from her coding long enough to pat her sympathetically on the knee.

"I maintain this is your fault," Bora said that night. "You put me in a white dress, what did you expect?"

"I didn't expect you to be pushed into a table of _chocolate fondue._ Like, _chocolate._ Of all possible fondues," Handong said in tones of deepest betrayal and despair.

Bora shrugged. "This is why dry cleaning was invented," she said.

"Dry cleaning," Handong repeated faintly.

Gahyeon had scammed a greasy oil heir out of his black card earlier, so they were staying in the Aria for the night; she was passed out in the adjoining suite, and Siyeon was sitting with her feet pulled up under her on the plush, velvety loveseat by the picture window, doing something very clever and hacky and illegal (or so Bora presumed) on her laptop.

"Okay, I feel bad," Bora said. "Come help me out of this thing, we'll try to save it."

Siyeon peered at them over the top of her screen. "Should I, like—leave you guys alone?"

"Yes," Bora said, exactly as Handong said, "Of course not."

4.

It had been a long time, months and months, since Handong had helped her out with a mark. She'd been laying low since the Channel Islands job, when they'd cut it close with Interpol and Bora had lost that slinky dress, and Bora had forgotten, in the meantime, what Handong was like when she was on the grift. She was a wink in dim light, sharp and smoky, totally smooth; she took the backstage role more often than not these days, but God, Bora loved watching her work.

This was a contract gig; their employer had a link inside, and had provided them with schematics and codes, so it was going to be in and out. As much as any job was ever in and out, anyway.

The only hitch:

They were in the hallway, feeling along the wall for the hidden safe. Handong was wearing a suit, a crisp shirt and a tie and a black pinstripe jacket, and Bora was in the cobalt cocktail dress Handong had bought her at Saks a few weeks before. Off the rack, sigh, but at least Handong had hemmed it for her.

The point was, Bora was looking at that tie, thinking about Handong in something bespoke and wool and expensive, some sharp, masculine Savile Row cut, and she didn't notice the nearing footsteps until it was too late.

"Handong," she hissed, and Handong spun immediately, hand loosening the tie at her neck, not needing further instructions. She took one step towards Bora, two, and Bora had enough time to think, _oh fuck,_ before Handong was pinning her to the wall, thumb against the dip of her collarbone, palm flat at the base of her neck. She slotted a knee between Bora's thighs, and her other hand yanked a strap off Bora's shoulder; it ripped in her hands. Handong cursed and moved to the small of Bora's back, palm skating lower down the fabric as she pressed closer. Her mouth was on Bora's neck, so Bora had an unobstructed view of the security guard approaching—he stopped several yards down the hall from them and coughed politely.

"Excuse me," he said. "This passage is off-limits to guests."

Handong pulled away, and wiped her mouth conspicuously with the back of her hand, which Bora felt was excessive, but also really hot. She gripped Bora's waist, and Bora plastered herself to Handong's side. "Oh," Handong said, not bothering to apologize, the picture of wealthy and profligate, "I thought I saw a bathroom this way."

With a look of slight distaste, the guard gestured down at his end of the hallway. "Here, ma'am," he said. When Handong made no move towards him, he said again, sounding slightly unsure, "Ma'am?"

"Maybe you could give us a minute, here," Handong said. Her voice was mild enough, but her expression was cold and formidable. It was a face that suggested she wasn't used to waiting for the help to do exactly as she asked. Bora held her breath for a beat, two, three—and the guard finally inclined his head, looking a little embarrassed, and stepped out of the hallway.

Very, very quietly, Handong said, "We have about forty seconds to find that safe before he comes back to make sure we've gone."

"Yeah, well, lucky us," said Bora, "when you slammed me against that wall just now I felt the stupid indent our contact was talking about."

Almost before she'd finished speaking, Handong was moving towards the wall and sliding away the panel by the indent to reveal the keypad. "I think I was pretty gentle with you," she said.

"That wasn't me complaining," Bora said. Handong shrugged off her jacket and put it around Bora's shoulders. She rolled up her sleeves, messily, ran fingers through her hair to muss it up, and typed in the code; the safe opened, and she pulled out the small velvet box and the thick yellow envelope their employer had requested. She handed them to Bora.

"In the lining," she instructed, "I left a space big enough. Box can go in the pocket."

They started down the hallway back to the party, but before they rounded the corner Handong stopped her, and took her face in one hand; she smudged Bora's lipstick just slightly with her thumb. Bora could feel the back of her neck tingling. She thought that was the end of it, but then—

"You were right," Handong said in her ear, voice low, and tugged on the jacket sleeve as they walked back into the crowd. "I do have a thing for you in black."

"So," Gahyeon said, "Bora actually kept her dress on for a whole job?"

Handong's gaze flickered up from her sewing, and she met Bora's eyes; Bora flushed and tried not to look at her mouth, which was of course exactly what she did the second the thought struck her.

"Just a small tear," Handong said. "I'll take some responsibility this time."

She should take _all_ the responsibility, Bora thought mutinously—she was the one who ripped the strap, with all that aggressive, disturbingly hot fake kissing, and she was the one who was driving Bora insane, distracting her at crucial moments, making her think insane thoughts like, forget the safe, forget the job, why don't you just come here and put your mouth on me again.

5.

"Bora," Handong said, staring very firmly and resolutely at the road, "when I said, don't do anything stupid, that was supposed to cover diving into the Mediterranean wearing a skin-colored sheer beaded with tens of thousands of Swarovski crystals."

A bead of seawater trickled off of Bora's eyelashes and down her cheek. Up close as they were in the front seat of the Fiat, she could see Handong swallow, hard. Interesting. "Do you want me to take the towel off and put it down on the leather, or—"

"Do _not_ take the towel off," Handong said, "just—let me—I need to focus," and her knuckles went white on the steering wheel.

Bora grinned.

+1.

"This was surprisingly thoughtful," Handong said.

They were lounging in a dressing room in Savile Row that was nicer than most places Bora had lived. Handong, dressed elegantly in linen slacks and a silk blouse, had a swath of fabric draped over her shoulder—dark, luxe wool, as Bora had requested. They were waiting for their tailor to return from the back room with a larger selection.

"It's your birthday," Bora said, "I wanted to splurge."

Handong hummed and fingered the wool, and stepped up on the dressing platform to face herself in the mirror. Bora came over and sat on the step below where she stood; looking up at Handong, she was struck by the picture they made, roles reversed. She ran a finger down Handong's calf, along the outseam of her slacks.

"I think I'm starting to appreciate why you're into this," she said.

"You just like feeling me up," Handong quipped. And then, smiling, she said, "You know, the amount of dresses you've ruined beyond repair—it's sort of hard to believe your appreciation is genuine."

Bora looked at the ground, at Handong's smart black loafers. "I know," she said, then glanced up and steeled herself, and added, "I'm probably gonna keep ruining them till you change your rule and take me out."

"Is that so," Handong said; for a moment, her expression in the mirror was vulnerable, cracked open, like Bora had never seen it, and then she crouched down on the platform so they were eye to eye, and Bora felt a warm sliver of hope expand suddenly in her chest, unfolding and unfolding and unfolding.

Bora smiled and said, "Yeah. Kiss me before there's a global shortage of black lace."

"You're an idiot," Handong said.

"Oh no, please, I insist," Bora said, "insult me while I'm confessing my love to you—" and she would've hammered on, but she had a sudden armful of girl, the wool pressed in between them as Handong kissed her so, so sweetly.

They bought three suits: two for Handong and one for Bora, whose love of fine tailoring, it had to be said, was growing by the day.


End file.
